Manifest Destiny
by AndThatWasEnough
Summary: He left an indelible impression on her years ago. Years later, he's back, with a brother that seems to have appeared from nowhere and a vintage car that screamed midlife crisis. He figured that it was a mistake that they were meeting again; she knew, after years of time travel, that it was only matter of time.


**Author's Note: Hey all! New story that I'm gonna write alongside my Outsiders fic 'Desperadoes in the Midnight Sun.' Very excited to start this up- it's my first Supernatural fic, and I'm hoping I get the characters down. It's gonna be multi-chapter, and I hope it'll be plenty entertaining.  
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**Disclaimer: It's all Kripke's, folks. I'm just having a bit of fun, getting some practice in for my non-fanfic stories.**

**Happy reading. :)**

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Father and son. The phrase made me think of auto shops and joint-owned restaurants and Saturday afternoon pickup football games. My father and brother were much the same in that aspect, still are, really. Respectively sitting at sixty-two and thirty-one, my dad and brother definitely were what you would consider a team. A partnership. And I was glad to see it.

Some fathers and sons work differently.

I was twenty-three when I met Dean Winchester and his father. They stayed in town for hardly a week, and were gone faster than you could say Joltin Joe DiMaggio. I should know: I've met the guy. Anyway, it wasn't much of a meeting. More like me getting caught up in one of trips again, posing as a waitress in a tiny diner that they so happened to stumble upon. The father, whose name I never had the opportunity to learn, was a tall, broad, dark-haired man, who was nice enough and treated me with the respect I felt I deserved. The other one...hooboy. Was he a kick in the pants. Tried to woo any creature with two legs and breasts. With the boyish, I'm-only-twenty-five-but-yeah-I'm-a-real-man grin and the smell of gasoline all over him, I'm wouldn't be surprised in the least if two-thirds of those creatures he came across and flirted with actually fell to him.

Those eyes, though. Oh, the eyes. Greener than anything I've ever seen, greener than the grass on a ball diamond or the grass I've smoked or the green on any of the dresses I own. They were pure and green and it was the only thing that could make me fall for him. It's unfortunate he opened his mouth.

"Can I get you boys anything?" I asked.

I tapped my pen against my pad of paper, ready to put the skills of learned in my shorthand class of work. 'Bout the only valuable thing I learned at Ole Miss was shorthand. Otherwise, women only attend to learn how to become the perfect wife to the perfect man. (Here's my definition of a perfect man: he starts perfect. Oh, he starts real perfect. Buys you flowers, gives you his class ring on a silver chain, tells you he loves you. He meets your parents, charms them into approval, then, after a reasonable courtship, asks to marry you. So you get married, move into a little pink ticky-tack box in the suburbs, and pop out a few babes. Then your perfect man starts working more, staying at work later, is too tired to help with the kids. Is it an affair? Is it a lack of love? Is he just a dick, plain and simple? I don't know. The only kind of man worth marrying is a farmer. My father's a farmer, and his and my mother's marriage is the best I've seen.)

Winchester Sr. was smart, asked for a black coffee, and kept his mouth shut. Junior was a little more eager, ordering, "Coffee- black, no sugar-and your number."

I smirked. Gee. All I'd said to him was, "Hi, my name is Marie, what can I get ya?" and he already wanted to have a number. Men. I almost laughed out loud.

"Alright," I grinned. "Two black coffees. I'll be right out with those."

I lingered a moment so I could see his face fall. It only faltered a little. He had his pride and his manhood to protect, that I knew for sure. Every man I've met is the same, and ain't it a shame. My travels have taught me that there are constants and harmonies between the past and the present that remain true, and the men are the same, year to year and decade to decade and century to century. Just one of the many lessons I've learned.

Dean Winchester was crestfallen.

It didn't bother me much, I'd refused many other men before. It was just sorta awkward every time I returned to their table, bringing food and refilling coffee mugs. Winchester Sr. looked amused, watched his son's face rise and fall and rise and then fall again each time I returned. Yeah, he was getting a real kick out of the situation his son had thrust upon me. I've had some tough jobs, seen some tough things, but this was somehow one of the toughest.

I brought their bill awhile later, watching as the father stuck one of those credit cards into the bill. As I rang it up, I suppose I could've learned his name by looking at his card, but I wasn't curious enough. Besides- since then, I've leaned that his card probably wouldn't've even given his real name.

"You boys are all rung up," I said, returning his card. "Y'all need directions anywhere? Need to know of any good motels?"

Junior looked like maybe he'd regained some hope. Like maybe he could give me a room number, tell me to come by later. Even if that had happened, I wouldn't've gone. Something else entirely happened, though.

"We're fine," the father said, grinning. "Thanks, though."

I smiled, nodded my head and turned my back as a way of saying that they could go, I was done with them.

They left, but Junior certainly wasn't done with me.

The irony that follows was almost too good to be true. I was spending a couple weeks in the historic town of Winchester, Virginia, and I'm sure the irony did not escape either of the duo. It was like this was where they were supposed to be- it was their name, it called to them from the Shenandoah Mountains.

And another thing: Dean Winchester, who formally introduced himself to me as Agent White, told me as he interviewed me for his "case" that girls hardly ever turned him down.

"I usually get the number," he told me. "Sure, there's a few misses-"

"Guess I'm a miss," I agreed happily. "Now, you're a professional. Don't you have some questions to ask me?"

He sighed to himself, ran a hand through his hair. "Umm, yeah. Yeah, I do. This man, colleague of yours, killed last week? Happen to know anything about that?"

I knew the colleague, but knew nothing about what happened to him, so I was able to answer truthfully. "Not a clue. I mean, I heard it was a heart attack. Makes sense, he was extremely heavy-set. Hell of a cook, though. Good guy."

Dean smirked a little. "You're speaking my language now, hon."

"Don't," I said breezily. He cocked an eyebrow.

"Don't- what?"

"Call me hon. It's not personal. I just don't like pet names."

It was sorta personal. It was personal because I didn't know him. Yes, he was handsome, yes, he was charming, yes! he seemed like an overall good guy. But I couldn't get attached. Rule #1 of the Time Traveller: Don't get too attached to the people you meet. I didn't make good friends-acquaintances, yes, but not the friends I had back home-or talk much to the other tenants in the boarding house where I was staying, and I certainly didn't get into it with the likes of Dean Winchester.

"You are difficult woman," he told me. I smirked.

"No, just one that doesn't want a string of one-night stands, that's all."

He nodded knowingly. "Fair enough. You're looking for your knight in shining armor, to ride in on his white horse and take you off to live with him in Camelot. Right?"

I shrugged. "Maybe. Here, I'll give you a reason why you and I can never be a thing: you obviously don't know jack about Arthurian legend."

He actually had the guts to look offended. "I've seen Monty Python and the Holy Grail over a dozen times."

I've heard of that one. I sunk back into the couch in my tiny little rented apartment and giggled. "Funny movie, but not completely accurate...at all. Sure, you've got all the knights, the proper setting, but other than that? It's just for laughs."

I have to admit, I did feel a bit pretentious. And like maybe I was embarrassing him some. But he'd come to interrogate me about a death, one that hardly seemed important to an FBI agent, and he had strayed off topic.

"Do you need any more information, agent?" I asked, changing the topic. The supposed agent shook his head.

"No. No, I don't think so. Besides- if you barely knew the guy or about anything that happened, I don't see a need to bother you anymore. I bet that sounds like a pretty good deal to you, right?"

I followed him to the door as he left. "Look, agent, I'm sorry if I came across as...less than whatever it was you were expecting. I am. But I have my reasons."

He looked at me carefully. I'll admit it; I love dropping hints and leaving clues. I wanted him to ask why I had those reasons. I wanted him to actually feign interest because honest? I really wanna tell someone what it is I do. A complete stranger really seems like the perfect candidate to me for some reason, maybe because they have no strings attached and won't stick around long enough to call me crazy. I just want to say it out loud:

I, Marie Ann Talbot, can time travel.

And just then, I wanted to tell Dean Winchester.

Funny thing that I trusted him then because I only just learned that his name is actually Dean Winchester, not the Junior White I considered him to be then. I've only just learned, my hunch confirmed, that the man he was with was his father. And I've only just learned about his brother Sam and the car of the same model that I saw, newly minted in 1967, driving down a road in 1968 past my old house in Mobile, Alabama. Son and Son before me, Brothers Winchester. And those same goddamn green eyes staring at my blue ones as the rain came down around us from where we stood on my front porch. I knew who he was as soon as I saw him because of those eyes. And I felt as though maybe something was wrong, but nothing was. It was just destiny.

I'm thirty-seven now, but I was twenty-three then as I showed him to the door, wanting to smooth down the left lapel on his suit that had gone rogue. He was supposed to be a professional, after all. He looked down at me and smirked.

"We all have our reasons, don't we?"

I watched him leave, just for a moment, then shut the door. He was right, we all have our reasons. Reasons that vary for varying things from person to person.

And fourteen years later, as we stand together under the roof of my porch, my reasons still stand, and I'm sure his do, too.

I wanted to ask him why he was here.

I wanted to ask him why he had brought his brother.

Why he had brought the car that was straight out of some middle-aged man's midlife crisis...which he fit into.

I wanted to ask him what he remembered about me.

I wanted him to ask me what I remembered about him.

But in reality, I knew why he was there. His eyes were serious, and so were the wrinkles surrounding them. The poor brother under the umbrella just looked inconvenienced.

I didn't need to tell him anything. He just knew.

"Are you Marie Talbot?" He asked. I nodded.

"Yes, that's me," I said. I like to think I his my nervousness very well just then.

"I'm Dean Winchester, and this," he gestured behind him, "is my brother Sam. Mind if we ask a few questions?"

I shook my head. "Not at all. Come on in."

I watched as they stepped inside, wiping their boots off on the mat by the front door. I almost offered to let them take off their shoes, but I'm a good southern woman and offered them coffee instead.

"Black, if I remember correctly," I grinned, setting the tray down in front of them. Dean picked up the mug like it was his, like we did this everyday.

"You got a good memory. And if I recall, you aren't a big fan of pet names, are ya, sugar?"

We hardly knew each other, but we knew which buttons to press. The brother, Sam, a large man that reminded me of the father I would later learn more of, seemed to finally find his voice.

"Excuse my brother for being a dick," he apologized. "He's trying to play bad cop. Miss Talbot-"

"Marie, please."

"Marie, if anything, we're just curious."

I leaned forward and sat up further. "About what?" I pushed a strand of hair behind my ear. "Still curious as to why I never gave you my number?"

Dean's eyes went wide, then settled back again. They looked a little angry now. Sam had the decency to look a bit amused, probably to razz him and please me, the woman whose house he was practically forced to come to.

"No," Dean snapped. "It's about what you do."

"My job, you mean?" I asked, playing coy. They both shook their heads.

"Marie," Sam began carefully. "We're curious about the time travel. We want to know more about that."

I couldn't imagine why. I really had no reason to even let them stay a minute longer. I wasn't scared, but I was nervous. Some people might say they go hand in hand, but not always.

Those green eyes stared at me, and I hate to admit that I fell in lust. Not love, mind you, lust. I was raised by a genteel Alabama family, came from money, and that had taught me the difference between love and lust. My later adventures with men taught me about each into more detail. The Land of Yesteryear was extremely different from the place where I was now, and the way people fell in love had changed. I enjoyed being courted. I enjoyed watching the men I brought home squirm under the stern gaze of my father. Then I grew, learning I had a say in how I fell in love, who I fell in love with. Ah, women's lib.

Dean Winchester fell in love in a completely different way than I did. I liked to fall in love slowly, letting it encompass me. He fell in love fast, and that's what made our relationship so difficult. But it was oh-so wonderful. I like to think I showed him a few things, and learned a few things in return, and that's all that there would ever be of us. I don't know yet.

Sam and Dean Winchester sat in front of me, ready to hear what I had to say.

So.

This is the story about destiny. About mine and Dean's destiny. I don't quite now what our destiny is yet, but I can certainly tell you everything that factored into it.

I'm sorry to say that I don't know if this story has a happy ending. Or even a particularly sad ending. Because like I said, I don't know the ending. I'm also sorry to say that I'm not the strong girl I was fourteen years ago, who I was when I first met Dean, because then it would've been impossible to fall on love-or lust-with him. But since we first crossed paths again, I have fallen in love with him.

I've made the sorry mistake if falling in love with Dean Winchester.

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**AN: And that's the end of chapter one! Hope y'all enjoyed. **

**Pardon typos. If you have the time, I'd love to read some reviews. And Happy 2015 in advance!**


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